THE PRAIRIE. GOD formed the world for beauty, Then clothed it in its loveliness, He made the mighty ocean, No greater, none more free, As the bounding, mighty sea. But O, the blooming prairie ! Here are God's floral bowers; Of all that He hath made on earth, The loveliest are the flowers. This is the Almighty's garden, And the mountains, stars, and sea Are nought, compared in beauty With God's garden prairie free. FABLE OF THE WOOD ROSE AND THE LAUREL. In these deep shades a floweret blows, "Thou worthless flower, Go leave my bower, And hide in humbler scenes thy head: Where roses are, Thy scents to shed? Go, leave my bower, and live unknown; "And dost thou think," the Laurel cried, "And dost thou think I'll leave this bower, Thy haughty reign will soon be o'er, "But know, proud rose, When winter's snows Shall fall where once thy beauties stood, My pointed leaf of shining green "Presuming fool!" the Wood Rose cried, And strove in vain her shame to hide; But, ah! no more the flower could say ; For, while she spoke, a transient breeze Came rustling through the neighboring trees, And bore her boasted charms away. And such, said I, is beauty's power! But in thy form, thou Laurel green, In life she cheers each different stage, Spring's transient reign, and summer's glow And autumn mild, advancing slow, MARGERY. I SEE thee still, as in a dream, I am changed, but thou dost seem The same sweet being bright and fair, For pure, primeval charms were thine, Margery! Expressing innocence divine So beauteously, That village maidens loved to bear And owned thee "fairest of the fair," Clear wandering waters-balmy gales, Margery! Calm moonlight walks, and tender tales I told to thee; These trooping to my mind return, My fancies glow, and feelings yearn:'Tis o'er—and I again do mourn, Margery! Thou wast a flower that faded soon, Margery! A star that waned before night's noon Admiring eyes were strained to know Joys are now thine, beyond compare, Thy harp and song ascend in air Thy guileless heart and thoughtful brow, I still remain, and cares are mine, Yet, as I weakly would repine, I think of thee; Then halcyon scenes we trod of yore Thoughts that with sweet romance ran o'er, And all blest things thou dost restore, |